


So You're a Masochist: Ron Weasley's Definitive Guide to the Art of Sidekicking

by zooeypotter (castlesnidget)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Post - Deathly Hallows, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlesnidget/pseuds/zooeypotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you reckon you're tough, funny, and attractive enough for the job – or if, like me, you have very little choice in the matter – then this book is the stylish monochrome wardrobe to your Death Eater; the hair product to your Malfoy; the... must I go on?"</p><p>Ron writes a how-to guide for aspiring sidekicks.</p><p>(Can also be found on ff.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

So You're a Masochist: Ron Weasley's Unabridged Guide to the Art of Sidekicking 

By: Ronald B. Weasley (otherwise known as Ron, Bill's/Charlie's/Percy's/Fred and George's little brother, Harry Potter's best mate, Roonil Wazlib, 'That tall bloke with the red hair'…'Who, that one?'…'Yeah.'); Order of Merlin, First Class; Assistant Arse-Kicker to the Boy Who Lived.

Experiences, Life-Threatening Situations, and Really Bloody Annoying Commentary provided by the rash schemes and prophesied fate of Mr. Harry J. Potter (Order of Merlin, First Class; Chosen One; Boy Who Lived; Master of Death;  _Witch Weekly_ 's 'Sexiest Bachelor').

Dictation Quill and Spell Check courtesy of Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class; Resident Genius) – yes,  _thank you_ , Hermione…can I get on with it now?

Hi.

Rubbish, absolute rubbish. Let me give that another go. (Stop  _laughing_ , Harry!)

Hello, I'm Ron Weasley. Chances are you've probably heard of me (I _did_ help save the world recently, if that jogs your memory at all). If you haven't, all you need to know is that I'm incredibly fit, get brilliant marks, and did not _Imperius_ , blackmail, or otherwise con Hermione Granger into dating me. My sister gets _Witch Weekly_ , I know what you toerags have been saying.

My mates are behind me right now, and not in the figurative, "pillars of loving support" way, but a "let's have a good lurk over the back of your chair to see what you're up to," far more irritating sort of way.

(I told them it was just a bit of paperwork. Hermione didn't believe me, of course, as she has brain cells.)

Anyway, this all got started when, earlier today, I was really, really bored. Charlie's the one who suggested I try my hand at writing a "how-to" guide on the ancient and noble art of sidekicking. (Now that I think about it, he may have been kidding, but here we are. I reckon it's too late to back out now, anyway - I've already got the parchment out and everything.) I think I might call it  _So You're a Masochist_ \- because to get into this profession, you basically have to be. (I wanted to call it  _So You've Got a Death Wish_ , but apparently a book on the 'training and taming of your new enchanted hamster' already nabbed that one.) 

What are my qualifications for instructing this delicate craft? In case you were wondering and/or live in a cave, I have loads. Good ones, too. These include: having Harry Potter as a best mate; breaking every Hogwarts rule short of murder and wearing non-school regulation footwear; having Harry Potter as a roommate; finding and destroying a bunch of famous magical artifacts; tromping through the British countryside with Harry Potter; ... oh, yeah, and helping defeat You-Know-Who and his merry band of evil dung beetles. 

Now that the introductions are out of the way, we can get on to more important stuff, like lunch – no, book, Ron,  _book!_  

Anyway, if you're reading this book (as opposed to, y'know, sitting on it or something), then you're probably related to me, got it as a crummy birthday gift (so your parents probably hate you, rotten luck), are bored to the end of your wits in History of Magic, or have become the best mate of a hero/saviour of the world/Chosen One/chronic adrenaline whore.

If that last one sounds familiar, then congratulations, you've picked up the right book for the task (though it's apparently quite informative – according to Hermione, that is, the only one who has ever and will ever read it –  _Hogwarts, a History_  doesn't really cover this sort of thing… I think). Also, you have my deepest sympathies.

 _Come off it, Ron. We've had loads of fun_ – dammit, Harry, write your own bloody book!

See? Heroes aren't all what they're cracked up to be; sometimes they're a right pain in the – okay, okay!  _Sorry_ , Harry… diva.

Before we get started, I'm gonna warn you what _not_ to expect. Specifically, don't get your hopes up for: a danger-free existence, a believable 'I haven't done anything, I promise' look, any semblance of a normal life, or instant (any) popularity with those of the female persuasion. (Ouch, I just got a smack for that one –  _yes_ , Hermione, I  _do_  know you're a girl… Merlin).

That all may sound very glamorous and enticing (if you're completely dead from the neck up), but before you rush wand blazing into the rest of this introduction, you need to do a bit of self-reflection. Is it at all likely that you would ever take issue with feeling a) insanely jealous; b) like a dunce; c) pain, lots of pain; d) impatient; or e) forgotten?

If you said 'yes', 'um, I guess so', groaned, or lied to yourself about any of the above, then I don't recommend signing up for the job. It's a lifetime commitment. Seriously, I can't get rid of the bloke now – he's  _always_  around.  _I live at your house, you git_  – shut it, Harry.

 **WARNING:**   **If you decide to completely disregard my advice to plow forward with it and in the near future find yourself miserable and failing spectacularly, don't get hacked off with me; I did warn you.**

If you said 'no' with total honesty, then well done: you've got the makings of a sidekick. Quickly, brag to all your friends, your parents, your owl: today's the first day of the rest of your villain-vanquishing, corruption-crushing, evil-expunging, annoyingly-alliterated life! I do hope you're prepared… oh wait, that's my job, isn't it?

Now, this is no Divination class; you actually have to work at it. It helps if you're a laugh, though – I mean, you can't  _just_  be absurdly good looking ( _How'd_ you _get the job then?_  – Oi, Potter, you're running on my last nerve now, I mean it.) I suppose someone like Percy could do it, but who'd want to hang around him for an extended period of time? I didn't think so.

Oh yeah, and don't get me wrong; Harry and Hermione both have a decent sense of humour, but usually Harry's preoccupied with brooding or saving the world, and Hermione's too busy being… well, Hermione. (Another smack! This book's going to be the death of me.)

So, if you reckon you're tough, funny, and good-looking enough – or, like me, if you have very little choice in the matter – then this book is as much of a must-have item for you as a stylish monochrome wardrobe is for a Death Eater (after all, black  _does_  go with everything… according to Ginny.)

 _Give it a rest, Ron. You already admitted to reading Witch Weekly_.

During my long career in sidekicking, I've accumulated more tips and tricks of the trade than Malfoy has got hair products. Likewise, as I'm a dreadful liar (for example, I've been known to call myself Stan Shunpike in crisis situations) and partially 'cause I just can't be fussed to make something up, the entire contents of this book will be drawn from a stockpile of my own experiences (not in calling myself Stan Shunpike, of course – believe me,  _that_  doesn't require a book of instruction… perhaps a brief pamphlet).

In conclusion – er, sort of, as this is only the beginning of the book – my indispensable wisdom (stop bloody  _laughing!_ ) should hopefully be applicable to your life in a useful way.

Actually, nah, I wouldn't wish what we had to do on anyone;  _nobody_  should have to eat that many mushrooms. 

**_WHAT'S THAT ABOUT MUSHROOMS, RON?_ **

They're my favorite. Better than Quidditch.

Well, that was the (lousy) introduction to my (considerably less lousy… I hope – I haven't quite written it yet, you see) book, and now that it's done, I finally get to go to lunch. I'm bloody starving.

I've honestly no idea why I told you that.

Well, I guess I'll see you – er, write you – in a bit. Wait, all you have to do is turn the page, don't you? … Just forget this part, okay?

WHY ARE YOU TWO LAUGHING?


	2. Lesson One: Dangerous Situations

**Lesson One: You Will End Up Risking Your Life Alarmingly Often**

* * *

With basically any job or activity that comes with potential health hazards, a disclaimer (in addition to a regrettable load of paperwork) is often involved in the mix. For this reason, I'm going to give you all fair warning of what's to come, so when you somersault off a cliff or try to charm your nose hairs green or anything else incredibly unintelligent, I'll not be the one held responsible for your distressing lack of common sense, for you will have been adequately warned.

_Disclaimer: Nobody's immortal, not even Voldemort (though he came pretty damn close, let me tell you.)_

In short, an invincibility complex never did anybody any good.This is important to keep in mind as an unavoidable occupational hazard of this job is that from now on, anything you do will have the risk of becoming potentially deadly without warning. No really, anything. Going to class, attending a wedding, sneaking into the girls' loo - all potential Death Traps. 

In any of these scenarios, the worst possible outcome is death, which is very often fatal. 'How fatal?' you might ask. Very fatal. Some aspiring sidekicks, however, seem to linger under the illusion that this does not apply to them. (It does.)

This may be a bit difficult to hear. It's completely natural to feel a bit like the rug's been summoned out from under you. (Imagine how I felt when sitting with the scrawny kid on the train somehow signed me up for an Unbreakable Vow of friendship.) Unfortunately, saving the world is not as easy as, say, buying a box of Honeydukes Finest. You can't simply prance over and say, 'Hey, evil bastard! Yes, you. Would it bother you terribly to stop being such a genocidal freak? That would be magnificent, thanks so much. Cheers!' and go on your merry way. Instead, you've got to do the whole deal: uncovering suspicious plots, fearing for your life, going places you'd really rather not be going to (I've done this far too often), fighting cronies and the like. All this, and you're not even getting a paycheck. 

The long and short of it is, when you're best mates with a savior-of-everyone-and-their-mother, you tend to end up in Dangerous Situations. It's just one of those things, like how Hermione has an old book fetish, or how Harry can't do a waltz for shit. However, to maintain ideal amounts of safety and limbs, you should know what a Dangerous Situations is and how to classify one if you see one.

**How to Identify a Dangerous Situation (for amateurs):**

Dangerous Situation (noun, though Harry makes it look like a verb) – an occasion when your, your mates' and/or your loved ones' skins may need saving; where mental and bodily injury is a high possibility:  _It became very apparent to Ron that the Triwizard Tournament tasks were **D**_ _ **angerous Situations**_ _, and that he really wasn't much jealous of Harry after all._

Synonyms: any situation where you find yourself surrounded by dark wizards/spiders/Dementors/Harry's Fan Club or at risk of drowning, dying, or getting seriously maimed; Care of Magical Creatures class; Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes test products; and training your new enchanted hamster (apparently).

Antonyms: pygmy puffs, éclairs, Christmas ( _I don't recall Christmas being too jolly for Hermione and I last year..._ You're ruining my thesaurus. Please stop.)

All right, you get the general picture.

**How to Identify a 'Dangerous Situation':**

(1) Someone is firing a spell at you, and you suspect they're not doing it with nice intentions

(2) The number of people in the room who want you alive is very small (namely, you)

(3) You get that  _This wasn't such a brilliant idea, was it?_  twinge in your gut

(4) A homicidal maniac and his posse of Death Eaters are chasing/attacking/mocking you

 **Example Scenario:** You (your leg broken), an escaped convict, a werewolf, an unconscious teacher, and an angry Harry Potter all walk/are dragged into the Shrieking Shack (Yes, I'm aware that sounds like the lead-in to a joke, but the punch line's not all that funny:  _It was the accomplice to murder everyone had thought dead and who had spent the last twelve years posing as your pet rat the whole time!_ ).

**Is this a Dangerous Situation?**

a) Yes

b) No

c) Treacle tart is delicious

Answer: 'a' and 'c' are correct.

If you're at all squeamish at the thought or sight of blood, gore, or pain, I have some golden words of wisdom for you: _suck it up._ There will be a lot more of that coming, so there's no use in making a fuss about it (unless, naturally, doing so turns a situation to your advantage; like milking it with the girl you fancy, for instance…not that I've done that or anything…only a sixteen-year-old prat would do something like— I'm going to stop now).

To illustrate this point ( _not_  the one on milking it for all it's worth, I think Hermione might have seen that and I like my head where it is, thanks), I'm going to give you a real-life example of a dangerous situation and coping with pain.

Not the sort of 'my sorry excuse for a best mate just prodded me with their wand' pain, nor the 'slowly being flogged to death with a woolen jumper' feeling not uncommonly felt during OWL revision sessions, nor even the torture of Post-Traumatic Girlfriend Disorder, but the 'a thousand cutlery knives are jabbing sensitive areas of my body repeatedly' sort of agony.

In my fifth year, during the now rather famous battle at the Department of Mysteries, a Death Eater put a curse on me that made my brain all wonky ( _We couldn't really tell the difference_. Piss off, Harry). In my altered state of mind, Summoning a bunch of brains (which were being conveniently stored in a nearby vat) seemed, in my barmy opinion, like a smashing idea. (It wasn't).

Take it from me, you've never had déjà vu until you forcibly experience someone else's memories ( _Don't I know it..._ Yes, Harry, and you can talk all you want about your experiences in your _own_ ruddy book!). I still have scars on my arms from where the brains strangled me. Do I dwell on them? Not a chance. In fact, they make me look rather rugged and manly (...seriously, you lot can stop laughing now...). There's a silver lining to everything.

The moral of this story is: anticipate pain, get over it, and move on.

And also, erm, you know, don't use  _Accio_  on a vat of cerebral matter.

Also, you may not have a DA, but you should definitely be sharp on defensive spells, jinxes, hexes, and curses. Expect to need them. Always be prepared, as my mother says (granted, at the time she was talking of packing extra socks, but same difference really).

That being said, it's also quite useful to have your other best mate/love interest be a genius and have knowledge of healing spells and potions as well as the foresight to pack said potions and remedies.

...

Have I been forgiven yet?

_**NO.** _

...

Erm - and it should be mentioned that said best mate/love interest is stunningly pretty...?

_Why thank you, Ron.  
_

Ha ha, Harry. No.

 _ **That's right, Ron. All I ever really want from you is validation about my looks.**_  

C'mon Hermione, I really need to use that memory transcriber charm for this next bit and you're the only one who can do it properly!

* * *

_Mid-Winter, 1996_

Pig, being the sorry excuse for a bird he is, somehow managed to miss the usual delivery time at breakfast (how he didn't notice that he was the  _only_  one left in the Owlery is beyond me). Instead, his puny brain reckoned it would be a  _far_  more splendid idea to drop a letter on my head at nine o'clock in the bleeding evening, completely scaring the shit out of me.

It wasn't.

A splendid idea, I mean.

Anyway, it's Mum's latest letter, freshly approved by the Ministry Safety-Scanning Brigade (or whatever... I have no idea what they're actually called). I swear, she must've had her  _Pocket Witch's Guide to Maternal Paranoia_  (if there is such a thing), flipped open to the chapter on coddling, next to her when she wrote this. Nothing in here's new: she's worried about me; doesn't want me to get in any trouble (fat chance); wants to know if I need any more socks; and hopes I'm keeping up with my homework (a damn sight more difficult task now that Hermione's not speaking to me).

I can't really blame her, though. I think out of all of us – the kids, that is – Mum worries after me the most. I may not have as many detentions as Fred and George have under their belts, but I've gotten into heaps more trouble than all of us put together. Side effect of being best mates with Harry bloody Potter, I suppose. He's a bad influence on me.

I tell him this.

He chuckles, still bent over his half-finished Charms essay. "Am I?"

"Well, yeah." I stretch my arms over my head and lean back into the couch cushions (we managed to score the best ones by the fire). My Transfiguration homework – or at least, a piece of blank parchment with my name scribbled in the top right corner which'll at some point  _be_  my Transfiguration homework (I'm still putting it off with the hopes that it'll complete itself – call it scientific curiosity) – lies in front of me on the table. "I mean, all the evidence points against you. If I hadn't sat next to you on the train first year, I reckon I'd be leading a fairly normal life right now."

"If by 'normal' you mean 'boring', then yeah," he retorts, scratching out a feeble sentence. "'Sides, you brought it upon yourself, mate.  _You're_  the one who chose to sit in my compartment."

"Yeah, and that was bloody good planning on my part. How many times have you saved my family now?"

"You've just contradicted yourself." I choose to ignore that. "Hmm, when you put it like that, it sounds like I'm a rather good influence, wouldn't you say?"

"Hardly," I'm not willing to surrender my argument. It's been a while since I've had a good bicker now that Hermione's gone and… yeah. "Who knows what kind of person I'd have been… your average rule-abiding citizen, perhaps, or a member of the Gobstones Club, or even a star scholar – Merlin knows I've lost a lot of valuable revision time running about on various adventures." He snorts skeptically. I narrow my eyes at him (something that seems to have very little effect) and say, with a voice that I hope sounds threatening (or at the very least, somewhat ominous), "Just you watch. One of these days we're going to do something like get expelled or drop out, and it'll be all your fault."

Harry laughs (he doesn't do that enough). It's true, though. I mean, look what else has happened. A clear pattern has definitely been established ( _wake up, breakfast, trouble, classes, more trouble, quick lunch, trouble, revision, dinner, spot of bother with an authority figure - aka trouble - bed; lather, rinse, and repeat_ ).

* * *

(Thanks, Hermione.)

Blimey, it's strange having dramatic irony about  _myself_. Cuts out a bit of the suspense, don't you think?

...

Wait, you can't really answer that, can you (without looking absolutely barmy talking to a book)?

Never mind, then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron  
>  _Harry_  
>  Ginny  
>  ** _Hermione_**

_You can't be serious._

It's my duty, Harry; my readers need to be warned.

_Your du_ __—_ You know what? Never mind. You've clearly lost it. _

Huh, I didn't think he'd give up so _—_  OY, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT A BROOM'S LENGTH APART AT _ALL_ TIMES?!

Piss off, Ron.

...

And they just carry on! Bloody typical.

Please excuse me for a moment while I  _Obliviate_ myself.

* * *

**Lesson Two: He Might Fall in Love With Your Sister**

* * *

To be perfectly honest, I never saw it coming. Then again, Hermione's always said that I have an 'uncanny knack for ignorance of the blindingly obvious.' (She loves me.)

 

I don't think my mate's disturbing romantic perversions regarding my sister quite qualify as 'obvious'. See, Harry operates in two different states: painfully transparent and more guarded than Gringotts.

Examples:

a) Cho Chang – Pathetically Blatant (as well as blatantly pathetic— _Hey!_ )

b) Ginny – Really Sneaky (Hermione disagrees, but we can't all be Little Miss Observant)

This is why I recommend _CONSTANT VIGILANCE_ (shout that bit out to achieve maximum effect) so you aren't crept up on unawares and find yourself watching your best mate spontaneously snog your sister in front of a hundred people.

Or, you know, any of the other times they got up to... _that_ as well.

* * *

_Spring, 1997_

The match is over. We won. It's impossible for me to stand in one place for more than three seconds at a time — I probably look like some sort of caffeinated pixie (the closest comparison to a pixie I'll ever get) — I can't wipe off the (probably mad-looking) grin that keeps spreading across my face. _We won._

Though the common room is full of excited babble, bad dancing (no, not _mine_ , thank you), and various foodstuffs nicked from the kitchens, the party hasn't truly begun yet; everyone's sort of milling about near the entrance, eyes darting every so often towards the resolutely _shut_ portrait hole (though there was that one false alarm with a very panicked looking first year, who seemed rather perturbed to have the entire contents of Gryffindor Tower shouting at him) as we wait to obnoxiously scream the results of the match at our unknowing Captain.

My eyes flick from Ginny, who's chattering to me about the game, how kick-arse my last save was, and _did I see the look on Chang's face?_ to the portrait hole, where from Harry should soon emerge. Any minute now. Really, it shouldn't be too long. I hope. Harry doesn't know about the match yet, and I want to be the one to tell him (thereby asserting my natural rights of best mate-ship).

As if on cue (or because I'm just _that_ magical... ha, _right_ ), the portrait hole creaks open, and the room falls silent. It has to be him. I mean, everyone else in Gryffindor is already here.

The silence doesn't last long. Shouts and cheers erupt as Harry steps (more like is yanked forcibly) into the room. His face turns from a resigned expression (did he doubt us or something?) to elated bemusement.

"We won!" I yell excitedly, brandishing the silver cup. "We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"

I dimly register Ginny leaving my side. She runs towards him, probably to give him a hug; I'll never understand why girls have a compulsive need to do th—

_What in the names of Merlin and pumpkin juice?_

Either Harry's a really bad hugger and missed the appropriate, pre-designated over-the-shoulder spot for his face, or my best mate is _kissing_ my little sister.

_In front of everyone._

Kissing.

Sister.

Harry.

I feel like I've taken a club to the head.

...

Merlin, how long are they going to stay like that? From experience, I know you need to resurface for air _sometime_ , and this is getting rather uncomfortable.

Harry pulls away ( _finally_ ), beaming. I've never seen Harry smile like that, it's weird... and kind of depressing, really (that I've never seen him do that). He looks right at me, over Ginny's shoulder (oh, _now_ he figures out the proper hug-head position, great). I can't work out his expression... it's like he's asking my permission or something.

Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'll look like the world's biggest arse if I refuse, especially _in front_ _of_ _everyone_. So I nod weakly (I'm still in a state of shock, I'm going to have to have quite a bit of that spiked punch before I recover).

They leave through the portrait hole; I notice their hands are intertwined. Hermione turns to me, grinning her face off.

"Isn't it _wonderful?_ " she gushes. I blink at her.

The words "What just happened?" pour out of my mouth. I almost wish I hadn't said it, because I can see Hermione working up a classic know-it-all genius look (she's probably got a patent on it, I swear).

"Harry and Ginny kissed," explains Hermione patiently. I typically would've found her patronizing tone offensive, but I see the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Yeah, I got that part," I quip sarcastically, unable to contain an eye roll (I may not be many things, but I'm always consistent). "What I want to know is _why_."

Hermione quirks an eyebrow. "Harry fancies her — and apparently, she fancies him right back."

Pardon, what? I ask her to repeat it, she obliges slightly impatiently.

I would vehemently deny her absurd statement, tell her she's inhaled too many potions fumes, but I just saw with my own eyes them... yeah, so I'm a bit uncertain ( _I_ thought Ginny was over him, for one, not to mention the whole 'Harry fancies Ginny' bit). I demand, "Since when?"

"All year practically." I can tell from Hermione's wistful expression that she thinks this is all very bloody romantic. Girls.

"Why didn't he—" My stomach twinges with this information. My own best mate can't do me the service of telling me he's got the hots for my sister?

"—Tell you?" Hermione finishes. Her demeanor has transitioned into one of barely-restrained frustration. I dunno what her problem is; _she's_ not the one who was slighted here (you know, besides Dean and Romilda). "You're her _brother_. Harry was probably intimidated by your less-than-supportive treatment of her relationships; he probably thought you'd do the same to him."

I'll admit, I _do_ have a track-record... but what does she expect? Ginny's my little sister. It's practically the _law_ for me to be an over-protective moron.

Hermione eyes me critically. "I will not allow you to do the same to them. Harry will be happy with Ginny. You _want_ Harry to be happy, don't you?" she adds, her lovely eyes shooting challenging daggers at me.

That is hardly fair: _of course_ I want Harry to be happy! Just, I'd have rather preferred him being happy with someone _not_ related to me.

Hermione's still staring at me expectantly. I sigh and acquiesce, "Fine, I won't _bother_ them about it." She smiles with satisfaction at my response... she looks pretty when she does that. I continue, "But they better keep the... physical stuff," my mouth twists into a grimace — I feel a bit ill (bad mental images, _bad_ ), "to themselves, I don't want to see that... it'll put me off my food."

She rolls her eyes at that last part, but doesn't retort. On some level, she understands the gravity of my actions: I've just broken the older brother code of law. Bill and the twins are going to give me absolute hell for this.

* * *

For the sake of maintaining my image ( _What image?_ —Harry, you're just miffed that I'm discussing your love life in an all-accessible publication, and you know it), I will add that, after they began going out, I did start notice.

_One would hope so._

Yes, thanks for the sentiment. Not. I meant that I noticed how my friend — you; no, not you-you, but Harry-you. _Thanks for clearing that up, mate, for a second there I was completely befuddled by your remarkable use of syntax..._ Don't you have anything better to do (that doesn't involve Ginny's lips)?— anyway, how my friend (Harry) acted around her — my sister, I mean.

This includes, but isn't limited to: smiling like a madman whenever she's within three meters of him (and an awful lot when she's not, too); blushing; at times, being unable to speak coherently in her presence (that one's my favorite, pretty bloody hilarious if you ask me — just picture it: one minute you can't get him to shut up about Quidditch, and the next his jaw's all hanging open simply because Ginny's walked in sporting a low-cut tee shirt) — oh yeah, this is also often paired with the aforementioned blushing, and talking about her all the time — I can't get him to shut up.

However, as I said before, it's always a good thing to predict this sort of thing (learn from my mistake). For this reason, I've — _**AHEM**_ — I mean, _Hermione_ _and I_ have compiled a list.

**How to Tell if Your Best Mate is Falling for Your Sister - a Diagnostic Test (some data provided by Hermione 'I'm-Too-Sharp-for-My-Own-Good' Granger):**

(1) He begins to stare at her, all the time — and not, might I add, because she's got jam on her face.

(2) Aforementioned staring leads to many Bludger-induced Quidditch injuries (even more conspicuous when said best mate plays Seeker, and is thus supposedly more watchful than the rest of us)

(3) He needs to talk to/laugh with/casually touch her constantly, which gets really bloody annoying. (I dunno, I can't say I minded all that much— When the hell did you get here? Wait, never mind. I don't really care.)

(4) He's always asking really subtle ( _ **i.e.**_ _**obvious**_ ) questions about her and her current relationship.

(5) etc., etc., etc.

Of course, then, after 'finally' getting her, he'll probably be a noble prat and break it off with her. I say 'probably' assuming that he suffers from a hero complex like most saviors-of-the-world (I can only guess, I haven't met too many).

Another annoying part of that, besides the heartbreak and whatever, is that he's the only one in the world who can get away with the line, 'Sorry, I have to hop around the country looking for bits of You-Know-Who's soul — oh yeah, and a squad of chic-ly dressed psychopaths will terrorize everyone I care about, not to mention the strong possibility that all of this just might kill me. So you understand where I'm coming from when I say I can't really have a girlfriend right now.'

_I did not say it like that at all._

It's called _paraphrasing_ , Harry _—_ like what we did with Divination homework, remember?

_That's what_ I _did with Divination homework. What_ you _did is called_ 'copying directly from the textbook' _, Ron._

Yeah, well, like she knew the difference.

_That is so not the point._

**_You did_ ** _**WHAT?** _

Um... baked you cookies?

**_I'M NOT AN IDIOT, RON—_ **

Damn.

See what I meant about not having a credible 'I didn't do it, I swear' look?

**_—EVERYONE KNOWS YOU CAN'T BAKE.  
_ **

(note to self: learn how to bake)

_**ONCE AGAIN, DO NOT INSULT MY INTELLIGENCE.** _

I wouldn't dream of it. When will you stop talking in ALL CAPS?

_**WHEN YOU STOP BEING AN IGNORAMUS.** _

So more or less never, then.

I will retaliate wittily later... after I've gotten my hands on a dictionary.

Oh, and, Harry? I've no idea what you see in her — Ginny, that is —, I really don't.

_I thought this whole chapter was about you 'seeing' exactly that._

Chapter? What is he on about? ... _Oh!_ Bugger, I completely— I mean... sorry you had to read all that. Harry tried to sidetrack me, being the inconsiderate bloke that he... well, _isn't_... and I suppose I got distracted a bit.

Moving right along, then.

(Pay attention, Harry, this will probably be one of the few times I'll ever say this.)

I guess I haven't got much reason to complain much (besides the snogging), and neither should you. If your mate is anything like Harry, then you probably haven't seen him really happy too often, and, if your sister ( _urgh_ ) makes him happy, than so be it.

_However_ , it should be duly noted by involved parties that snogging does _not_ necessarily equate with happiness. I'm sure you two can find bliss and all that in a strictly meter's-distance-apart relationship... it's not like it's long distance (though feel free give that one a try as well).

_Thanks, mate._

No problem. Get me a sandwich, will you?

_No._

There's a good lad. Wait, what? You ungrateful little—

 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally published this fic in 2009 on ff.net. It was my first major writing project, so it's kind of my baby, haha. Anyway, as I repost it to AO3 I may take the opportunity to go back and update the text (after all, my writing has - hopefully - improved since I was 15, haha.) Enjoy!


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